I feel…something soft in my chest and my head. A little dizzy, maybe, but it’s nothing like being close tohim. Damian.
Still, I squeeze her hand. “I think we can trust Damian,” I tell her. “He saved our lives. He could be dead right now. Even if Eivor’s plans are not what they seem, I don’t think we need to worry about Damian.”
Rosalie eyes my face, but doesn’t say anything.
“What?” I ask after a pause too long to be nothing.
She shakes her head.
“We can’t keep secrets,” I tell her. “Unless there’s one you already have.” I narrow my eyes.
She narrows her eyes at me in kind. “The way you talk about him. You’d better be careful or I might think you’re the one I shouldn’t trust.”
I let go of her hand and stand up from the bed. “Do you even trust me now?”
She laughs softly. “Good point.”
“That wasn’t an answer,” I tell her.
Rosalie tilts her head to the side. “You’re a handsome man, who is now my husband…but no. Not quite.”
I can’t help but smirk at her. “Smart woman.”
“I’ll never trust a man completely,” she tells me.
I lick my lips. “That’s probably for the best.”
Even dressed in comfortable sweats and a t-shirt, I can’t quite get to sleep tonight. I keep thinking about how easily it wouldhave been to shoot me down if Damian hadn’t rushed over and gotten me and Rosalie to the ground.
I could be dead right now.
I’m used to that thought; at least I think I am. This isn’t the first time I’ve been threatened, much less almost died. Yet, something about it is really getting to me. I’d been higher than a kite at the rehearsal dinner, and all I’d wanted to do was get away from Rosalie, but she’d followed me to the window.
Was the shooter really trying to kill the both of us, or could Eivor have something to do with it? Could those bullets have been just for me?
I stare at the ceiling of the cruddy apartment safe-house with Rosalie at my side. She appears to be sleeping, based on the small chipmunk-like snores that come from her side of the bed.
We’re as separated as can possibly be. Two different blankets and several pillows squished in between us so that we can’t possibly touch each other while sleeping. On accident or otherwise.
This would be fine with me if it weren’t for the fact that the bed was ridiculously small. I’m practically on the edge.
With a sigh, I rub at my face and slowly sit up. I look down at the woman beside me. Rosalie. My wife.
My…wife.
That thought makes my stomach ache and I know I can’t stay in this bed any longer. I can’t sleep here.
So, I get up and make my way out of the room, closing the bedroom door behind me and hoping she doesn’t wake up. If she does, maybe she’ll just be glad to have the bed to herself.
I’m not sure what I expected, Damian to be asleep on the couch or awake watching the door, but what I get is him standing in the kitchen in a pair of grey sweatpants that match my own, pouring himself a mug of coffee from the shitty coffee maker on the counter.
Damian looks over at me and he looks as though he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just pulls another mug from the cabinet and starts to pour coffee in it as well.
May as well.
I step over to him and just as I’m about to reach for the coffee creamer, he grabs it, and starts to pour it in, and then looks up at me as if to ask, enough?
I nod after another second of pouring and he stirs it in. It’s laced with sugar, so extra doesn’t need to be added.
